Crush
by fluting-through-life
Summary: Starscream wonders about the possibilities of something more between himself and Optimus Prime. Another companion fic to my story "Just This Once." Contains sticky slash.


_Okay, between chapter 18 putting up a ton of resistance and having had far too much caffeine, I bring you another little one-shot inspired by a song. It's the same night as __Undisclosed Desires__, but this time it's Starscream's point of view. And it's inspired by—seriously?—David Archuleta's "Crush." *fails* But it's a completely different dynamic than Optimus' POV and I couldn't resist the challenge._

_Again, __**STICKY SLASH**__._

_Here we go…_

* * *

I swear to Primus, I've been sitting on this rock for the better part of a vorn and then some. If he makes me wait for even five more kliks…

… Then I will. With complaint, I'm sure, but I will.

I sigh to myself. When did this… whatever this is… come to mean so much to me? When did this take over my every waking thought? Why didn't I even notice that it had? It hasn't even been that long. A few Earth months, I guess, and really, that's nothing compared to our life spans. How did I get to be so attached so quickly?

So unconditionally?

Because I know I'll wait here all night if I have to. I hope I don't, but I will.

My head snaps up as I hear the familiar, comforting rev of his engines and my Spark flares wildly in its casing when I see his alt-mode streaking across the desert. To me.

_No_, I immediately berate myself. Not to me; to what I offer him. It's a service that he does not receive back at his base, I'm sure, though _I _provide it for him. Willingly, of course. How can I not when he treats me so well? Better than anyone ever has, actually. It's… nice. The interfacing, obviously, I mean, I don't think Primus could perform any better than that mech does. But… afterwards… when we sit and talk about everything and nothing. I'm sure he finds it little more than an irritation and probably wants nothing more than to go back to his base and thoroughly cleanse himself of my presence, but at least he doesn't act like it bothers him. He humors me, albeit incredibly convincingly, so I don't particularly mind.

My wings twitch a little unconsciously before I fall completely still and just watch him, mesmerized by his sheer presence. Even now, off the battlefield, he appears to be larger than he is. He does not demand the attention like my pathetic excuse of a leader does. It's a different kind of charisma all together. More… approachable, I suppose. While he radiates calmness and solidarity, Megatron exudes only anger and instability. Ah, the irony that I would be drawn to my leader's rival for the very concepts that he so deeply despises.

He transforms in front of me and, pride still intact, I slowly push myself to my pedes. I try to keep myself from openly gawking at his body like some besotted Sparkling, though I do a quick once over to satisfy my need. Primus, how do I keep from falling out of the sky as soon as he shows up on the battlefield?

"Late again, Optimus?" I ask, inwardly cringing as I refer to him by his personal designation. It's too familiar, he'll be offended. Decepticon scum like me talking to him like some personal acquaintance. I hold an intake, hoping that he misses the slip, despite the flutter of my Spark that his name invokes.

He does, thank Primus, and goes on to tell me that he had to attend to the services of one of his soldiers. It doesn't really matter which one, though I make a mental note to shoot him the next time I see him for keeping me waiting.

I engage him in trivial conversation, just the polite "How have you been?" and various other inconsequential bits of dialogue and, damn, if I don't just want him to take me right now. Almost like he was reading my mind, he steps forward and pulls me into him.

And I think my Spark just exploded with joy. I have never known true happiness until this moment. I press against him, wanting nothing more than to simply phase into him, become one with him. I look up at him and those _optics_! There is so much assurance in his steady blue gaze as he stares down at me. And it scares me, to be perfectly honest. I feel like he can see right through me, right into my very Spark. I feel so… vulnerable. So easy to manipulate. He could hurt me so easily. Physically, yes, I'm sure he could, but I would quickly recover from that, given the number of times that I've had to. But… emotionally, I am unprepared for the devastation that he could so effortlessly inflict. It is unfamiliar to be so open with another. Though I… I like it, I think. In spite of the potential threat that it could present to my psyche, I wouldn't give this up for anything.

I only wish that I could read him so easily. I feel like he knows me so well when I know nothing about him. What does this mean to him? What do _I _mean to him? It seems like such a simple question because I can't imagine that he feels even half of what I do for him, but what if? What if this is more than just something to satisfy his sexual desires? What if he sees me as more than just a habitual interface partner? Would it be worth it, to press the matter, to ask him what this means to him, to put myself out there completely and hope that he doesn't destroy me as easily as I know he could?

No. It would not be worth it. This is good enough. I will not risk what we already have, risk ruining the best thing that's ever happened to me, to gratify my curiosity. This is good enough. It's not my place to ask for more.

He is touching me, light, gentle caresses across my frame and out to my wingtip. He lightly pinches it and oh _Primus_ do I love when he does that. I push further into him, pressing my body flush up against his. He's so gentle when we start. So… unlike what I'm used to. It's nice. I suppose I never realized that the touch of another isn't always violent. At least, not with him. He never hurts me, _has never_ hurt me, even on the battlefield. We have never faced in hand-to-hand combat before and I've only ever been shot down a handful of times, but when he has shot at my Seekers, he never aims for me.

But, again, that's presuming far too much.

I want to do more for him. Frag, I want to do _something_ for him. I only know of one spot that drives him wild since he is always in control of our meetings and I don't get much chance to explore so I make do. I reach down between us and probe his grill, watching with barely contained glee as it affects him immediately. His engine roars in approval of my small contribution and he crushes me against him. I love when he holds me like this. It's almost… possessive. Comforting.

I slip one of my legs between his, sending a smirk his way to wordlessly communicate what I want. His optics glisten and I'm pretty sure he is smiling beneath that damned battle mask of his and he urges me down to the ground. My Spark flutters excitedly in its chamber as he teases the sensitive glass of my cockpit. Optics offline, I grab blindly for his shoulders to anchor myself with. I _want_. There is no coherency; there is only want, need. I jerk my hips up against his and he gets the message.

I watch with growing excitement as his hand worms its way down my body, further reducing me to a quivering puddle of need, until it comes to rest on my codpiece. I lose the little bit of control I have over my vocalizer as I cry out his name, not even caring anymore that it's his personal designation. The next thing I know, he has slid open my interface panel and I feel my own fluids trickling down my leg. I watch as he releases his spike, feeling the peculiar mixture of growing lust and apprehension. He puts his hands on my hips and slides inside me. My body reacts of its own accord, as does my vocalizer which I've given up any hope of controlling. I feel him as he slides every inch of his thick spike inside me and _nothing_ has ever felt so good.

He pulls out almost completely only to thrust himself roughly back in. I cry out, my body jerking spasmodically as it desperately tries to keep up with his movements and my own reactions. Each push gets me closer and closer to release and I feel my lower body beginning to lock up in preparation for what is to come when, finally, one last thrust pushes me over the edge and I'm lost in an oblivion of pleasure. I am only vaguely aware of him climaxing inside me and collapsing atop my body.

And, if I died right now, I'd be okay with that. Feeling him inside me, his body surrounding me, creating this secure environment, free of the abuse that I am so accustomed to… it is overwhelming. It is in these moments that I seriously contemplate the benefits of leaving _with _him, not having to worry about returning to the Nemesis to face all of its… un-pleasantries. But I can't help but quail at the thought of living in the _Autobot _base. Maybe another time, another life, I would ask if that was even a possibility, but in the here and now? I don't think I could make that commitment. Though, if I ever did, it would be for him. For now, I don't even know if I'm wanted.

I look up at him, completely sated, and… that look. Those optics. What if…? Was it possible…?

He answers my unfinished questions for me as he rolls off my body to sit beside me… away from me.

Unexpected? No. Disappointing? Infinitely so.

Instinctively, my body jerks in his direction, wanting more physical contact with him. But I will not reach for more than he gives me. It is not my place. The last thing that I want to do is overextend my expectations of him and chase him off. This is good enough. It has to be.

Instead, I turn my reflexive reaction into a long stretch, feeling the satisfying _creak_ of joints falling back into place. I am aware of him watching me as I do this and I tell myself that his attention is almost as good as when he touches me… if not just a little more hollow.

Once I've gained something resembling coherency, I engage him once more in conversation. I don't know how long we sat there talking, Pit, I don't even know what all we talked about, but I _do_ know that I haven't laughed that hard in _ages_. It's nice, having someone to talk to. I guess that over time I've decided that luxuries such as this were inconsequential. But, now, having him sitting there, listening to me, trading petty bits of trivia about our subordinates… it's refreshing. I am pleased that he grants me this little favor and that he doesn't just take off and leave once he's gotten what he came for. Maybe, on some level, he does care about me. More than likely, it's just that hopeless Autobot civility kicking in and he probably would think it's _rude_ to leave me here like that.

Whatever the reason, I'm glad he stays. I do wonder how long he would stay, though. Normally, _I'm_ the one to leave first. Would he stay all night if I didn't stop talking? Or would he excuse himself mid-sentence?

Tonight is not the night that I will find out, unfortunately, because I really do have to go as my _illustrious_ leader was not in a gracious mood when I left. Not that he ever is, but still, if there's a chance that I can avoid his wrath, then I will.

I reign in my disappointment, knowing the dynamic of what I'm leaving and what I'm going back to, not that I'll let him know how much this affects me. I offer my worthless excuse and I swear he sees right through it. For the sake of my own sanity, I ask, "Same time, next month?" fearing the day that he says "no."

Tonight is also not that night. He answers with a reassuring, "Of course" and I hold in the urge to slump in relief. But I keep it in and he is none the wiser of how much of a comfort it is to hear him say that.

I only nod slightly and turn away from him, my Spark a little lighter knowing that I will have this again in only another month's time. As I take off into the air, back to my base, I can't help but wonder: What if?

Even though I already know the answer.

* * *

_Reviews?_


End file.
